


To Dance, Perhaps to Yearn

by The_Bentley



Series: Five Hundred Word Challenges [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dancing, F/M, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Male Crowley (Good Omens), Regency, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25565089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: A chance meeting at a ball in 1815 leads to some talking, dancing and subtle reactions to close touching between an angel and a demon.(Formerly "La Danse," but I thought up this title and liked it better.)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Five Hundred Word Challenges [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885723
Comments: 11
Kudos: 53
Collections: SOSH - Guess the Author #3 "Dancing"





	To Dance, Perhaps to Yearn

**Author's Note:**

> Guess the Author Round #3 -- Dancing. Written in present tense because I was being a little shit! 😁
> 
> CW: Mention of a wine cellar, but no actual drinking takes place.

He notices her across the ballroom, a girl in a gauzy white dress with a blue ribbon tied around the empire waist. Her white-blonde hair is done up in a simple chignon, a few curls framing her cherubic face.

With a frustrated growl he approaches her in his fashionably fitted tailcoat in black and spectacularly tied cravat of deep red resting upon a grey waistcoat. She turns when she heard the click of his finely polished boots upon the floor. The usual sunglasses cover his eyes she notices as she looked him up and down.

“Dandy fits you. What do you want?”

“I could ask you the same.”

They are interrupted by a young woman laughing merrily. “C’mon, Mr. Crowley! Miss Fell! Join the dance!”

He grabs her gloved hand.

“Angels don’t dance.”

“It’s a Quadrille. We’ll walk around in circles, do a bit of skipping and bow to other couples. Hardly dancing. It’ll be cover to talk.”

She nods in agreement. He's right.

They line up, two rows of dancers facing each other. He laces his fingers with hers as required and the music starts, a bouncy number perfect for light steps. Her pulse quickens. Forward they move several steps to bow to the couple across from them then pace back to their original position.

“I’m here to bless a newly engaged couple. Nothing difficult. The leading lady and her partner, in fact. You?”

His hand grasps hers as he leads her forward. They turn in a circle. 

“Well I…” He is interrupted by a dance move that requires him to exchange partners with another young man. 

Nodding at the young lady now on his arm, he sweeps her in a circle back around to her partner, exchanging back to original partners again before more bowing. His original partner's breath hitches when his hand returns to her back as they retreat. The couples step backwards, turning now to bow to those pairs diagonal from them. 

“I was invited, that's all. I’ve apparently become influential.”

“That's great.” She bobs up and down again before repeating the animated steps towards the other line. “Demonic influence all around.”

“They just enjoy my wine cellar.”

“Oh.”

They put their arms up, clasping hands as they turned in circles. He notices she is discreetly biting her lower lip. Back to the line. Weaving in and out with their lively dancing. Switching partners, then back again. 

“Hell hasn’t contacted me in a decade, angel. I’ve simply been enjoying myself.”

Another separation interrupts their conversation.

“Don’t you have a bookshop to mind?” he asks when they could continue.

“Yes. I’ll be back in London tomorrow.” She shivers at the feel of his hands sitting loosely on her waist. “If you would like come calling.”

He smiles knowingly at her. “I just might.”

They finish their dance in silence before he doffs his top hat at her and disappears from the ball. She would see him tomorrow in London for a glass of wine, maybe a kiss.


End file.
